From Whence Attraction Stems
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: Beneath a blanket of stars, two lovers remember how it all began. MMAD. Fluuuufy!


**A/N:**_ An idea like this has probably always been in my subconscious, what with all the talk about atoms in my Physics class... :D But anyway, I wrote this last night, reread it and cried all over, but not because it was sad, but because it was so fluffy. Hopefully, this is a good sign. :D This is WAY TOO fluffy to be allowed and I have nothing to clean out your teeth. You have been warned. Also, a shout-out to whoever suggested I needed to write more fluff?: You were right. :D  
_

**From When Attraction Stems**

He held her oh so delicately in his arms, and they stared at one another's profiles as they laid beneath the stars. Hair of raven black and silver white blended and contrasted with the eyes so well, and neither of their hearts allowed them to see how different they truly were.

His eyes were blue, feathering upon the sky and as changeable as the entity. Now they were a dark cerulean, mimicking the quiet skies above as they laid together in complete stillness. There were no words here to break the line of connection, of concentration, which began even before they were aware of it.

Her eyes were emerald, foisting upon her the image of great beauty, but lacking the terribleness of it. She had always been beautiful, even as age began to square her down, drawing her to conform to a life of luxury, but she did not bend and never had until tonight. He had brought her here and it seemed that all of this time, she had not taken care of herself as "ordinary" women would. But the years had strangely melted away to nothingness as he breathed word of his love to her.

They silently continued to stare until Albus could bear it no longer and slowly moved his hand, as if to give her the choice of denying the travel of it, but no words came to her lips, and he received a soft smile instead before he made the contact.

Her cheek was soft to him, and every bit of it his hand touched flushed with heat.

The touch was electrifying to her, and every bit of the remnant of his touch burned while the rest of her grew cold and unyielding to anything except for him. And the smile on her face grew warmer as she sighed in pleasure.

=~*~=

The laws of attraction were known to both of them; in the analytical sense, opposites did attract. That was how the world worked, and nothing dared question the root of that science. But this, this was another sort of attraction, only explained by the hearts that united them.

He had seen her first, and how pretty she was back then, but her youth was lost to him, and any pursuit was dangerous. She had grown older and disappeared from his life and he assumed it was to never again be a stumbling block for him. He would never see her again, and she would never know of his embarrassing condition he had for her, that he had always had for her. He had always liked her, even when she couldn't stand him, but one day it all made sense to him; he loved her, and he would never have her. It was as simple as that. She would get married to a nice man who could provide for her, and his heart gladdened with the thought of receiving such news! To have finally married her off would cure him of this disease!

But the news never came as he had expected it to. He had pilfered _The Daily Prophet_ in agony, searching for her name among the few that were mentioned once a month. Her name never appeared. His search eased as he learned she was furthering her transfiguration work beneath a very tight-laced woman who would surely push the girl to her limits, and Albus breathed easily again. The mistress would never allow Minerva time for such "frivolity" as love while she was in her charge. But within a few years, the search was on again, and no such news was given.

Then, the opening loomed ominously, and Albus struggled with the decision to owl her of the news. She would give him the best choice, he knew, but he was also extremely tempted to ask her to just have her around again, and he knew this was in vain. He knew he would trip if she came to school fully grown. So, he desperately searched for another appointment, _any_ suitable appointment, yet when he finally confided in Headmaster Dippet of his woes of a Deputy Headmaster, thinking he would have another name in his mind, the man said the name Dumbledore had been dreading-- "Wasn't Minerva McGonagall one of your best students a while back?" he asked. "I think she would be perfect."

So, she was back and Albus was swept away all over again, and not just by memory, but by how feminine she had become. He fumbled with his plans and decided to cancel every one of him as she still saw him a trusted advisor and friend-- not as a potential lover or possible soul mate, but with this, he settled. He would become a very _good_ friend.

He waited in exasperation for the callers that would come, but his countless hours of watching out the window proved ill. No one came to claim her and the years so near yet so far apart began to take their toll on his heart, the driving motive beneath all his woe.

He continued to be her friend and even let slip by accident how high he held her in his gaze, and their friendship became far more personal as he was slowly intoxicated by the presence of her. He loved her, heart and soul, but his nerve failed him so many times that he often returned to his quarters feeling a great fool. Fawkes comforted him the most bitter of nights as they grew even closer. But his heart had seen her heart and he could no longer settle for less and finally decided to pursue her. The pull of attraction was far too great and far too wonderful if she would comply to declare defeat.

She too had seen his gentle heart and immediately, her heart was in full sway of it, but she hid this fact from all who knew her. He exasperated her to an indefinable degree anyway; why did her heart declare his worthiness?

She saw something in his eye as he looked at her later on in her final years, but she convinced herself it was simply him being himself that brought that beautiful twinkle, a twinkle she had never seen until she had come to one of those extra classes with just him. He alone was so beautiful and the way he was always so kind and loving both infuriated and shot her over the moon with how wonderfully and how deeply she could love him in the dark. If anything troubled him, she already knew and would attend to it to the best of her ability. He was not always there in her seventh year, but she prayed he would return safely each time he told her he was leaving for 'a spell', as he so often joked. He was so beautiful and the difference in their age was so great that she felt it beyond possible to ask him to eradicate the barriers written by society. She was nearly in the prime of her life while the sun was steadily setting in his, and how beautiful the departing sun looked! He was painted as a lion, but with the frequent laughter of a hyena, the smile of the dog and the sparkling blue eyes of the wolf. He was a species she could not define, but her heart yet drove her to the brink of insanity still. Why was she so conflicted with a man of his age? Why would her heart not settle with a smart man of her own age but of her own strength of mind as well?

But this was the flaw in both of them; they sought within their minds for the heart of the other, and this is why knowledge could not explain anything. If they had followed their hearts, they would have been together long ago, for their hearts knew each other before their minds did.

She set out on her own after graduation, and her heart bemoaned the loss of he that had given her so much. She firmly told her heart to shut up and became Madam DeFeinte's apprentice. The woman never let Minerva do anything, which was certainly fine by her, so wounded was her heart by this surely eternal separation. She did write him occasionally, however, but only just. She didn't dare write him more than was necessary, just as a true pen-pal would in order to save him the inkling that she cared more for him than she let on. Her heart did not like it, but every letter from him, no matter the length, was so cherished because it was _his_ handwriting written specifically to _her, _and oh, his stationery smelled so much like him that this satisfied her heart for the time being. Until the day came the request came for her to return.

And how her heart wrestled with her, twisting her mind to believe that she only ever had the desire to come back because of him, and she almost answered in negative. Her heart was the driving motive beneath all her woe, and with trepidation, she wrote the affirmative letter.

She came back, and he was little changed besides the color of his hair. It brimming silver at his roots and looking at it made her smile, for she knew he would have completely lamb-white hair one day, but until then, it mismatched everything he wore and he was utterly unaware. She was swept away by him all over again, but did nothing to indicate this was the case. He thrilled her when he told her she was a cherished friend and she wove that into memory; the feeling she received when the unexpected words fell from his lips and her heart ached to love him again, but in the light with him knowing it. But it was expected of the man in nine times out of ten to make the first move, and she would not deny him the privilege. . . . Her heart fell into despair when the years began to bend her knees to the floor beneath the weight after he disappointed her again and again, but there was no one to turn to except he who brought on the both the love and the distress. She finally confided in a dear friend, who proved to her of its possibility, rekindling her hope, and Minerva smiled genuinely at him again, never knowing she was carefully pulling him into her arms by this act alone.

=~*~=

His lips tenderly touched her forehead and she shut her eyes and exhaled deeply.

His fingers danced up her neck, and she sensed her pulse begin to race as he held her chin in his gentle clasp. "Minerva," he whispered, his lips almost against her forehead, "I love you. My darling, my love, my dear, my beautiful, wonderful, sweet Minerva."

"Albus," she breathed, "I love you too even if I don't spit out the most cliché of titles." She felt him smile before he moved back and kissed her lips, his soft white beard seeming to stroke every bit of skin his fingertips couldn't reach.

And both of their hearts beat as one, finally satisfied.


End file.
